Whispers Beyond the Door

The kitchen was dimly lit, the overhead bulb casting a soft, yellow glow over the tiles, making the shadows seem longer than usual. Outside, the rest of the house lay in silence, the creaks of old wood and the ticking of a clock somewhere the only sounds cutting through the stillness of the night. It was late—past midnight—but Jason didn’t care. The quiet was a relief after the day he’d had.

He entered the kitchen, his shoulders still heavy from the tension he carried home with him. His work shirt was wrinkled, his jeans loose and worn, and there were dark circles under his eyes from a day spent in mind-numbing meetings, endless emails, and passive-aggressive chats with his boss. All of it swirled in his mind, refusing to let go, but he knew how to settle it down: by making a grilled cheese sandwich.

The smell of butter sizzling in the pan instantly started to soothe him. He reached into the cupboard for a plate and slid the first slice of bread into the pan, hearing the satisfying hiss. Cooking had always been his therapy. Something about the rhythm of chopping, mixing, and stirring helped him clear his mind. This late-night snack was no different.

As the bread browned and the cheese melted, Jason heard a faint creak behind him. He tensed, but when he turned, it was only his sister Lena standing in the doorway, her face groggy from sleep. She wore an oversized hoodie and pajama shorts, her curly hair messy and tangled.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, her voice a soft murmur in the quiet.

Jason shook his head. “Work was brutal.”

Lena yawned as she walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the small wooden table. “I swear, you’re gonna lose it one day if you don’t get out of that place.”

Jason smiled faintly, flipping the sandwich. “You’re not wrong.”

The silence returned, but it was comfortable. Lena sat, rubbing her eyes, while Jason finished the sandwich and split it in half. He placed one half on a plate and slid it in front of her. She accepted it with a grateful smile and immediately took a bite.

“Mmm. You’re good at this,” she mumbled through a mouthful of food.

Jason chuckled, leaning against the counter. “Years of practice.”

The soft crunch of the sandwich filled the room as Lena ate in contentment. Jason reached for a glass of water, his mind momentarily freed from the stress of the day. But then, the familiar sound of footsteps echoed in the hall once again. Another figure appeared at the doorway, this time their father, Frank.

Frank, dressed in his old, fraying flannel robe, gave his children a tired smile. His graying hair was disheveled, his face etched with the deep lines of age and worry, and yet, he moved with the slow, deliberate ease of someone who knew his place in the world.

“Can’t sleep, either?” he asked in his gravelly voice, stepping into the kitchen.

Jason shrugged. “Seems to be a theme tonight.”

Frank made his way to the table and sat down heavily in the chair at the head, the same chair he’d sat in for years during family dinners. He reached for the other half of the sandwich, taking a bite without asking. Jason didn’t mind. Their father had always been a man of few words, but there was a certain warmth in his presence that made the kitchen feel a little less empty.

“You want something stronger than water?” Frank asked, nodding toward the cabinet where he kept his whiskey.

Jason shook his head. “Nah, just food for me.”

“Suit yourself,” Frank muttered, getting up to pour himself a small glass. He returned to the table, setting the whiskey down with a faint clink before taking another bite of his sandwich.

The kitchen fell into a familiar rhythm, the quiet sounds of chewing, sipping, and the occasional clatter of plates. They didn’t need to fill the silence with conversation. It was enough just to sit together, to share this space at an hour when the rest of the world was asleep.

Then, the door creaked open once more. Jason glanced up, expecting to see his mother, but instead, Lily appeared. His girlfriend, her dark hair messy and her eyes half-lidded with sleep, stood in the doorway, a soft smile on her face as she took in the scene.

“Is this a family meeting I wasn’t invited to?” she teased, stepping into the kitchen.

Jason grinned, motioning for her to sit down. “Midnight snack. Want some?”

Lily sat down next to Lena, shaking her head. “I’m good. I just heard voices and thought I’d see what’s going on.”

“We’re just trying to make it through the night,” Lena said, pushing her empty plate away with a contented sigh.

The four of them sat together around the table, the kitchen bathed in the soft light, the atmosphere thick with a comfortable, almost nostalgic quiet. Jason reached for another piece of bread, deciding to make another round of grilled cheese. The night didn’t seem so bad anymore, not with the people he loved around him.

Lily glanced around, her eyes drifting to the window, where a sliver of moonlight peeked through the curtains. “You ever notice how the kitchen feels different at night?” she asked softly, her voice thoughtful.

Jason paused, halfway through buttering the bread. “How do you mean?”

“It’s just... quieter. Not just because it’s late, but... it feels different. Like the world outside is far away, and this is its own little place.” Her words hung in the air for a moment.

Lena nodded slowly. “Yeah, like the kitchen exists outside of time when it’s this late.”

Their father grunted, a noncommittal sound, but he took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes distant as if he, too, felt what they were talking about. Jason smiled, turning back to the stove.

But then, something strange happened. The lights flickered. Not just a quick flash, but a slow, deliberate dimming, as though the electricity was straining. Jason frowned, glancing up at the bulb. 

“Weird,” Lena muttered, her voice suddenly sounding much louder in the stillness.

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but the lights flickered again, longer this time, before plunging the kitchen into total darkness.

“Power’s out?” Lily guessed, her voice calm but uncertain.

Jason set down the butter knife, listening to the eerie silence. The refrigerator stopped humming. The clock on the microwave went blank. And for a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing in the pitch-black room.

Then, a sound broke the silence. It was faint, barely noticeable at first, but it quickly grew louder—a creaking noise, like someone walking slowly on the old, creaky floorboards. Jason’s heart skipped a beat. He instinctively reached for the counter, trying to steady himself as his pulse quickened.

“Is that...?” Lena started to ask, but Jason held up a hand, urging her to stay quiet.

The creaking was coming from the hallway—the same hallway they had all walked down to enter the kitchen.

Only this time, no one was supposed to be there.

Suddenly, the lights flickered back on, flooding the room with harsh, artificial brightness. Jason blinked against the light, his eyes adjusting to the sudden change. He glanced at Lena, Lily, and Frank, all of them frozen in place, their eyes wide with the same unease that gnawed at his own gut.

Then he noticed something else—something that hadn’t been there before.

On the floor, just beyond the kitchen doorway, was a small puddle. Dark. Slick.

Jason felt his stomach drop.

“Dad...” Lena’s voice wavered, but she wasn’t looking at the puddle. She was staring at Frank.

Jason followed her gaze, and his blood ran cold. Frank, who had been sitting upright only moments ago, now slumped over in his chair, his eyes closed, the whiskey glass spilled beside him. The sandwich he’d been eating sat untouched, his body motionless.

Jason’s heart pounded in his chest. “Dad?”

No response.

He stepped toward him, reaching out, but before he could touch his father, the lights flickered again. This time, they didn’t come back on.

And in the darkness, the creaking footsteps returned—louder, closer, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of breathing.

But this time, it wasn’t any of them.